


Office Hours

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Blowjobs, Bottom!Cas, Cockwarming, Dub!Con, Insecure!Dean, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Miscommunication, PWP, Professor!Cas, aka lack of communication, handjobs, implied bottom!dean, implied top!cas, possessive!dean, top!dean, twink!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Dean certainly likes to take advantage of Professor Novak's office hours, ready to do whatever it takes to raise his grade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is how i spent the largest amount of writing time i've had in weeks XD enjoy! ~~i know it's short but it's the first cohesive story i've written in a while~~
> 
> there's also a [tumblr version](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/185940800692/jhoomwrites-jhoomwrites-jhoomwrites) and as always feel free to stop by my tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) to talk destiel :)

Castiel is grading papers from his grad students. It’s his office hours, but it’s early enough in the semester he doesn’t expect anyone. This is more the time of the year when students prefer emails instead of urgent questions about their grades. 

He jumps slightly when there’s a knock at the door, squints through his glasses as he tries to place the student. It’s so much harder out of the context of a given class, but he quickly puts together that this is- 

“Mr. Winchester,” he greets with a smile, gesturing him into the room. Dean hasn’t made much of an impression yet, though his recent test shows that he does not seem to grasp the finer points of poetry. No surprise, very few 18 year old boys care much for poetry. “Please, come in.”

Dean is a whirlwind. Castiel has barely gotten the words out, and in that small amount of time, Dean has locked the door behind him, gotten to his knees in front of Castiel, and is undoing the zipper on his slacks. 

“Mr. Win-Winchester,” Castiel stutters in surprise, so surprised in fact that he cannot stop the automatic reaction he’s having to seeing such a pretty face between his legs. Dean is so close there’s no way he can’t see the growing bulge, can’t feel it as he continues to work Castiel’s fly open. “Wh-what are you-?”

“I can’t get a C in this class,” he says, looking up at Castiel through long eyelashes. He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s crotch before meeting his eye again. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Professor. Anything you want…”

Castiel’s higher brain functions shut off the second Dean’s mouth is on him. Dean’s good, very good, and Castiel finds himself noticing all the things about Dean he probably never let himself notice before. Beautiful eyes. Tanned skin. Freckles, so many freckles. Shapely ass.

No gag reflex… 

When Dean’s gone, after giving what is without a doubt the best blowjob of Castiel’s life, Castiel is left boneless in his chair. This is bad, this is wrong, and what’s worse, he enjoyed it. 

He changes the score of Dean’s test from a C to a B. 

~ ~ ~

Dean apparently doesn’t like B’s either. All semester, he comes to Castiel’s office, carefully locks the door, and ends up on his knees again. Castiel bites the inside of his cheek, wanting to protest each time, but far too eager for what’s to come. Slowly, Dean’s grades improve to A’s.

“You know,” Castiel says, breathlessly, almost angrily, “you could just ask questions during my office hours. I’m more than happy to work with you on your assignments. You could earn an A the first time instead of… your choice in _extracurricular_ work.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Dean winks at him as he straightens his hair. “This is more fun though.”

It shouldn’t, but it puts an uneasy worry in the back of Castiel’s mind. 

_How many other professors does Dean do this with?_

He looks at Dean’s grades. A’s across the board, and in some rather challenging math and physics classes. The only outlier is the B in Castiel’s class, though if Castiel makes another tweak to Dean’s grade based on his last visit, it’ll be an A, too. 

As surreptitiously as he can, Castiel talks to Dean’s other professors about him. Looks carefully for signs that they, too, have experienced a visit from Dean Winchester during their lonely office hours. 

Instead they all gush about how bright he is, how they hope to win him over to their department and are already considering making him a TA. 

It… doesn’t make sense. 

Why _him_? Why _only_ him?

~ ~ ~

He’s ready for Dean’s next visit. 

When Dean comes in, his cocky smile falters when he sees the desk. 

“What’s this?” he asks, nervous for the first time since he’s burst into Castiel’s office. 

Castiel leans back in his chair, trying not to enjoy Dean’s discomfort and instead focusing on his reaction. “It’s your most recent assignment, the textbook, and an ancillary I often recommend for this topic. Take a seat.”

Dean, normally used to taking charge, to _being_ in charge in their encounters, shrinks in on himself. 

It hurts Castiel’s heart a little to see it. 

“Couldn’t we just… do what we usually do?” Dean asks. His voice his full of hope, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ve spoken to your other professors.” Dean blushes at that. “They speak highly of you. They seem to think you’re a highly capable student.” Castiel nods pointedly to the chair across from him. “Show me.” 

For a moment he thinks Dean might flee, that he’ll take what he’s already earned and run. Slowly, though, Dean steps forward and takes a seat. He’s quiet as he listens to Castiel’s instruction, answers questions thoughtfully, and overall does quite well on improving his work. 

He _is_ as clever as the other professors suggested, though why he hasn’t shown it to Castiel before now, he has no idea.

There’s only a few weeks left in the semester. Dean continues to come during office hours, though this time with his own books and questions. He does occasionally give Castiel _a look_ , something akin to longing or pleading, but Castiel pointedly ignores it. 

He’s pleased to see Dean earn his own A on the final. 

He’s disappointed when there are no more office hours left. 

~ ~ ~ 

Castiel has given up hope. Hope for what, he can’t quite say, won’t allow himself to admit, but it’s there.

Longing.

It’s foolish. Why would he expect more after he put an end to things? This is what he wanted, isn’t it? Dean earning his grade with what he knows and not sexual favors he can grant. 

Besides, Dean made it clear it was only ever about the grade.

Castiel finishes a meeting with his department, plans for the next semester. They only have a few weeks off before it all starts all over again. Castiel’s planning out what he should take home, notes he should make during the winter break, adjustments to course syllabi-

He’s completely dumbfounded when he opens his office door and finds Dean leaning against his desk.

“Mr. Winchester.” He’s pleased his voice doesn’t shake. He frowns, wondering if he mis-entered Dean’s final grade. “Is something wrong?”

“Got that A,” Dean says. His voice is low, seductive. 

Castiel gulps. He can only nod.

“Aren’t you proud of me?”

He nods again, mouth dry.

“Don’t you think I’ve earned a reward?”

The door clicks shut behind him. This time, it’s Castiel who locks it.

When Castiel gets his class list for the next semester, he can’t help the fond smile when he sees _Dean Winchester_ among the names. 

He thinks he’s going to enjoy the next four years very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus Scenes:**  
>  **Charlie, looking at Dean’s schedule:** why are you taking medieval poetry??? what does that have to do with engineering???  
>  **Dean, not looking up from his book:** the professor’s hot  
>  **Charlie:** fair enough  
> * * *  
>   
>  **Sam, looking over Dean’s schedule:** why are you taking a poetry class???  
>  **Dean:** the professor’s hot  
>  **Sam:** THAT’S NO REASON TO RUIN YOUR GPA!!!  
>  **Dean, waggling eyebrows:** oh don’t worry, I got it covered. in fact, he’s got me-  
>  **Sam:** PLEASE STOP TALKING!  
> * * *  
>   
>  **Cas:** so why weren’t you doing well in my class to begin with? you’re clearly capable  
>  **Dean:** you’re too hot. couldn’t focus. spent all class daydreaming about sucking your dick. even spent a whole lecture doodling how big i thought your dick was.  
>  **Cas:** *laughs nervously*  
>  **Dean:**  
>  **Dean:**  
>  **Dean:**  
>  **Cas:** oh my god, you’re being serious aren’t you?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the dean pov of what was going on. i meant this to be only a slight continuation of the story, but uh, it grew out of control? ~~man i feel bad for cas i totally jipped him in the world count when the story actually started with him... ~~~~~~
> 
> ~~~~  
> ~~there should be an epilogue and/or bonus scenes today or tomorrow :)~~  
> 

**Freshman Year**

Dean has two goals for his first year of college: get straight A’s and find a fuck buddy. 

Even with the course load he’s working with, he’s confident about the grades. Finding a fuck buddy he worries about. He’s got the looks and he thinks he’s got the personality, it’s more that he seems to end up with people who want an actual relationship. It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea of a boy- or girlfriend, is just that he’s 18. He wants to have fun and enjoy college without worrying about settling down.

An unfortunate turn off events ends up jeopardizing Dean’s two goals: the only English class he can fit into his schedule is Into to Poetry. He knows shit about poetry and it shows as he peruses the textbook before class. He is going to get a shit grade or he’s going to spend so much damn time studying he’s not going to have a social life.

Fuck his life.

He gets one look at Professor Novak and he begins to reconsider. Maybe this class won’t be a complete waste if he gets to stare at Hottie McHotterson for an hour three days a week-

“Good afternoon, class. I’m Professor Novak and welcome to Intro to Poetry.”

Dean jerks his seat, suddenly half hard as he hears that sinfully deep voice. Holy fuck, he’s doomed.

Three weeks into the semester, he’s no better off. Long gone is that initial surprise, but instead is horny anticipation wherever he heads to Novak’s class. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d probably try jerking off in class because damn. He literally can’t think of anything else in class except getting on his knees and showing Novak just how much he enjoys his class.

He even has this fantasy of going to Novak’s office hours and propositioning the professor right there-

“C,” Novak says in that beautiful voice as he places Dean’s quiz on his desk. “Not your best work.”

Dean’s momentarily awestruck that the guy even knows his name. And then he pieces together what he said and wait _what_!? A fucking _C_?

Oh fuck no. Nope not gonna happen. He doesn’t know what he’ll do but he’s gotta get his grade up-

Suddenly, he gets a stupid, crazy idea. It could get him in a shit ton of trouble…

Or it could get him back on track for both his goals.

~ ~ ~

Dean’s unspoken arrangement with Novak is _perfect_. He slowly improves his grade, gets to blow the hot professor, and he doesn’t even have to lose any time outside of class studying to try and catch up. 

Seriously, _perfect_. 

… Until Novak starts pushing back. Dean doesn’t know what to do except follow Novak’s lead and actually buckle down and put in the time. 

He’s a hard worker. His grades attest to that. He was never scared of putting in the effort. 

He reminds himself of this again and again. He shouldn’t be disappointed, this is _fine_. This is what he should’ve been doing the whole time. The professor probably just got tired of some young kid taking advantage of the system. He gets it. 

It doesn’t matter, he’s a big boy, he can handle it. 

… Why does it feel like a break up? Fuck, this is why he avoided relationships to begin with.

Instead of letting himself dwell on it, he throws in twice as much effort learning poetry, because at least if he’s trying, he still gets _some_ attention from Novak. 

~ ~ ~

“Don’t you think I’ve earned a reward?” 

He’s so damn nervous. He’s worked so hard to impress Novak, and given their history, he really hopes this works and he doesn’t get blown off. 

For the first time, Novak locks the door.

Dean could cry in relief. He uses the desk for support because his legs are shaking so bad.

For the first time, _Novak locked the door!_

When Novak steps into his space, silently demanding Dean spread his legs to make room, Dean almost whines. He most definitely whines when Novak leans in to kiss him. It’s sweet and slow, Novak’s musky scent overpowering almost everything else. 

Novak pulls away first, resting his forehead against Dean’s. This is tender, this is soft, this is nothing like what it was before; chills run up Dean’s arms. 

“You’re right,” Novak says, his voice deep and wrecked already. “You did so well for me. What would you like your reward to be?”

Dean could cry. All he can do is pull Novak in for another kiss. 

This one is frantic, messy. Soon there are hands, roughly exploring each other and finding purchase. They’re rutting against each other, the desk their only support as they try to make room. 

Soon Novak works a hand between them, undoing Dean’s jeans and working him out of his boxers. 

“You did amazing,” Novak whispers in Dean’s ear, stroking him urgently. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Dean gasps, nods, can’t form words. He stops trying, knowing Novak will take care of him. 

“You were one of the top students in the whole class, you know that? After everything, you were the best. You’ve come so far, and I can’t _wait_ to see how much farther you’ll go…” 

Amidst all the praise, Novak’s hand around him, Dean can’t process it all. It’s too much, too good. He comes with a whimper, pulling at Novak’s lapels desperately as he slumps bonelessly to the ground. 

Novak doesn’t let him fall, though. 

“Good boy,” Novak whispers as he guides Dean to a chair. “Such a good boy…”

He doesn’t know it then, but that’s the moment Dean is totally and utterly lost.

~ ~ ~

Their new arrangement works much better. It feels less dishonest to be _rewarded_ for good grades with sex instead of using sex to get good grades. Dean likes it, actually knowing the answers.

And he likes all the ways Novak’s willing to encourage him. Really _really_ likes them. 

It’s no surprise then, when summer hits Dean finds himself re-reading some poetry. Maybe sending Novak an email or two with questions, ones that he hope show he’s not a total loss on his own when it comes to poetry. 

~~And maybe he tries to write a poem or two, but he tears those up. Talking about blue eyes is just too embarrassing.~~

When the time comes to sign up for classes, well, he maybe makes his whole schedule fit around Novak’s 200 level class… 

~ ~ ~

**Sophomore Year**

“You’re still doing the poetry?” Charlie asks. They’re in line at the bookstore and yeah, the number of poetry books is almost equal to his math books. “That professor must be something.”

Dean blushes, he can feel the heat all the way up to his ears. He turns away so Charlie can’t see it, mutters something about how he actually kinda likes the poetry, and prays she won’t push the matter. 

He can feel her eyes boring into him, but thankfully she doesn’t say anything else. 

~ ~ ~

“What’s a fucking engineering major doing in an upper level poetry class?”

“Probably didn’t realize you have to actually _do_ stuff in this class.” 

The seniors snicker as he walks past.

Dean pointedly ignores them as he takes his seat, discreetly, a few rows in front of them. A year ago, he would’ve wanted to punch them for talking shit about him. 

Now he’s just hoping they really _don’t_ pay him any attention at all besides a few snide comments. The last things he needs is for anyone to make any connections between him and Novak. Especially when he just spent an hour under Novak’s desk, keeping his cock warm as he finished grading. 

When the TA hands back their tests, Dean’s tempted to hold it up so the jackasses behind him can see the grade. 

_98% assholes. What did **you** get?_

But again, he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself, at least not like that. 

Instead, he focuses on the words Novak is actually saying so he can answer questions and _show_ that he’s got the brains to be here.

~ ~ ~

“Fuck!” Dean gasps. He scrambles for a better grip so that he doesn’t fall over. Novak’s hand continues to work Dean’s cock, his hips continue to thrust between Dean’s legs, rubbing against his hole and teasing his balls. They’ve never actually fucked, but it’s so damn easy for Dean to picture right now… 

“I’m gonna-” He gasps, trying to reign in his impending orgasm. “Shit, Professor, I’m gonna come all over your desk-”

And then he does. 

Novak groans, nipping at the back of Dean’s neck until he, too, comes. 

They stay like that for a moment, leaning against the now messy desk. Dean’s well aware of his dripping thighs, of their pants pushed hastily out of the way, and of the earlier praise for doing well on his research paper. 

Novak moves first, gently lifting himself up. As he helps Dean clean up, there’s an odd look on his face. 

“What?” Dean asks, suddenly self-conscious. Shit, _was_ there something wrong with his paper after all?

“When we’re…” Novak pauses, flushes, and then visibly forces himself to continue. “When we’re engaged in sexual activities, I would prefer it if you call me by my name instead of ‘Professor’.”

Dean frowns. “Novak…?”

“Castiel,” he corrects gently. 

It throws Dean for a loop. While intellectually he _knew_ Novak had a first name, he’d never really considered what it might be. Some childish part of him might have even thought his first name _was_ Professor. 

“Castiel,” he repeats. It feels heavy and wrong on his lips. It’s strangely intimate. 

He decides right then and there that he will _not_ let himself get used to the name. Intimate is bad. This isn’t a relationship, and a slip up outside of this room could cost them both. 

“Right,” Dean says, offering a smile he hopes like genuine. “Cya next time, Castiel.”

~ ~ ~

_Mr. Winchester,_

_I hope this email finds you well and that you’re enjoying your summer break. I must admit, I’ve missed having your company since the end of the semester. Your enthusiasm for my classes has helped me get through many otherwise long and boring office hours over the past two years._

_While I understand you are likely busy with a job or summer courses or simply enjoying the time to yourself, I wondered if I could tempt you to stop by the campus once or twice a week to help me with an archival project. The university could offer you a small stipend for your time, if you’re interested._

_Yours,_

_Professor C.J. Novak_

~ ~ ~

_Professor,_

_I do have a summer job, but I can definitely make time to help. You’re my favorite professor after all ;)_

_Let me know the days/times you have in mind, or I could drop by to talk about it in person._

_\- Dean_

~ ~ ~

**Junior Year**

It turns out Dean had an easy start to college. He’s maintained A’s for four semesters so far, but suddenly his junior year hits him like a ton of bricks. 

His classes for his major are way more complex and time consuming than he’s used to. He still loves it, still gets it, but it takes more effort on his part to keep up with things. It’s the first time he’s _ever_ had to work for his math grades, and it worries him.

He’s barely halfway there… 

The only peace he finds is with Castiel- with Professor Novak. It’s much needed stress relief, built into his week and adding necessary routine.

At least until it all falls apart.

~ ~ ~

“So how come you don’t date?” Jo asks.

Dean chokes on his coffee. Charlie pretends to be very interested in the paper she’s reading. 

“You know I don’t like to date,” Dean manages. It’s true, he’s maintained that since high school. No dating until he’s got a real job. Much more calmly, he adds, “I just do one night stands.”

Jo looks at him skeptically. “Do you? I mean, I know you slept with Aaron and Cassie back in freshman year, but I was talking to Benny who said you turned him down, and I hear you turned down that Lisa chick from the sorority. What gives?”

Charlie gracefully leaves the table to “get another scone.” She stands behind Jo and gives Dean A Look that he doesn’t appreciate. She’s pestered him off and on for years about the whole Novak thing, but he’s dismissed it. He has it under control, it’s not interfering with his life, it’s fine. 

Maybe it’s not fine. 

Dean shrugs. “Not my type.”

“Bullshit,” Jo says.”Are you secretly dating someone? Do you have a crush on someone or something? C’mon, Winchester, what gives?”

He replies as honestly as he can. “I just… don’t have time right now? I mean, you’ve seen how much I’m studying trying to keep my head above water. I haven’t been to a party in weeks, I got so little down time.”

Jo’s expression turns sympathetic. She reaches a hand across the table to squeeze Dean’s. “Yeah, I get that. Try to find some time for yourself, though. Don’t burn out, ‘kay?”

Dean mumbles that he’ll do his best. He also very obviously avoids Charlie for a few days so he can’t deal with her much more pointed questions.

~ ~ ~

It’s a stupid gala that the school does every year. The professors, prominent alumni and alumnae, upper classmen, parents… It’s basically a glorified fundraiser, but it’s pretty classy and Dean’s excited that he actually gets to attend this year. 

He rents a tux, attends with Charlie and Jo and a few other kids from his classes. It’s fun, even if they’re too young for drinks. Dean’s doing his best not to step on Charlie’s toes on the dance floor when he feels like he runs into a brick wall.

There’s Novak, dancing with a pretty brunette that’s a good head shorter than him. He watches in stunned silence as he leans down to listen to her and then laughs at whatever joke she just told him. They dance so closely that Dean’s imagination runs wild, wondering if Novak’s got a girlfriend, a wife, has had one this _whole fucking time_ \- 

“Dean?” Charlie asks, worry in her tone. “Dean, let’s get off the dance floor. There we go…”

He lets her walk him right out of the party, right to the nearest frat party. He lets her put a drink in his hand and lets her try to distract him. 

It doesn’t work.

~ ~ ~

Dean doesn’t bother knocking, just pushes open the door and barges in.

“I’m sorry,” Novak starts, “but my office hours are-” He stops short when he sees it’s Dean. “Dean? What-?”

Just like that first time, Dean is a whirlwind. He locks the door and is across the room in the blink of an eye. He climbs onto Novak’s lap and smothers his word with a kiss.

Novak is clearly surprised, but just as clearly happy to let Dean have his way.

Dean takes full advantage, rutting down against him while he holds him in place by the scruff of his neck. His kiss and touch are demanding, but Novak yields to him completely.

“Let me fuck you,” Dean growls in his ear.

He both sees and feels the full body shudder that goes through Novak.

“Here?” he asks breathlessly. There’s no resistance in his voice and Dean knows right then that he’ll get what he wants.

“Here. Now.” Dean pulls away, but only to start taking off his pants. He tosses Novak a bottle of lube. “Get ready.”

It’s good, so damn good, to finally be inside Novak. He’s daydreamed about this, jerked off to this very thing, but even Dean’s imagination never could have prepared him for this.

“So tight, how are you so tight?” Dean mumbles, and then bites down on Novak’s- on _Castiel’s_ neck to shut himself up.

_You’re mine. I need you. Say you’re mine, say you want me back…_

When it’s over, Dean says something about being late to class just to get out of there.

No way he can get himself get used to this.

~ ~ ~

They don’t talk about it, surprise surprise, and Dean’s too chicken shit to bring up his actual concerns.

Because his actual concerns kind of make it sound like he wants to be dating Novak, and that’s not what this is about, that’s _not_ what Dean wants.

The brief winter break only gives him time to dwell on all the thoughts he wishes had never crossed his mind.

~ ~ ~

Dean struggles with Old English poetry, no surprise there. He can barely read the stuff, how’s he supposed to analyze it? Never mind he’s got his other classes demanding more and more of him.

Fuck junior year.

“So,” Dean says casually as he enters Novak’s office, “I was hoping to go over the last couple assignments-”

“We need to talk.”

Dean’s smile drops from his face. The highlights of his week are when he comes here, regardless if it’s to study or fuck. This, however, does not sound good.

Nodding, he takes his usual seat. Novak looks at him a moment, studies him, and Dean does his best but to fidget or look away.

“Your grades-”

“I’ve got an A,” Dean says defensively. He’s worked his butt off for that A, Novak has to know that.

Novak nods. “Yes, I’m aware of your work in my class. I was referring to your B in math and your struggles to keep a low A in physics.”

His heart pounds in his chest. What the fuck?

“Those classes are for your intended field of study,” Novak continues. “Good grades in those classes would better your internship possibilities far more than anything I can provide you. I’m…” He hesitates, something unreadable in his gaze. “I’m concerned you’re devoting too much of your time to me.”

The words make him go cold. His grades are slipping so now Novak doesn’t want him around?

“I go out of my way to make room in my class schedule for your class,” Dean grits out.

“Dean, you know you don’t have to take my classes to spend time with me.”

And that’s just too much.

“Ain’t that a joke. We both know the only way this works is if I’ve got class with you.” Dean stands up, furious, devastated.

He paces around the small room to burn off some of the reckless energy coursing through him. Abruptly he stops and points an accusing finger at Novak.

“You got a wife? A husband?”

Novak raises an eyebrow but holds up his left hand, devoid of any trace of a ring.

“Girlfriend, then? Boyfriend?”

Novak’s face turns dark then, some mix of anger and hurt lurking below the surface. “It would appear I do not, no.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“It means I can’t believe you think so little of me,” Novak snaps. He takes a moment to visibly calm himself. “You know my door is always open to you,” he says slowly, evenly. “Always, truly. But I think you should consider your future. In a year after you graduate, no one will be impressed that you got an A in this course. They won’t even notice you _took_ it. Graduate schools, potential employers, they will care if they see your grades declining in classes directly relevant to your intended career path. Please consider carefully how you wish to proceed from here.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, _Professor_ ,” Dean sneers. “So glad to find out that no one cares if I’m here or not.”

With that, he grabs his backpack and makes a beeline for the door, ignoring the urgent calls of _Dean_!

~ ~ ~

“Gilda,” Dean calls as he bursts into Charlie’s dorm room. Both of them are on the couch reading and look up at him with curiosity. “You’re an English major, right? You any good at Old English poetry?”

Gilda smiles through her confusion. “Yes to both? Why-?”

“You mind tutoring me?”

Charlie, as if trying to dismantle a bomb, carefully says, “Dean, if you’re having trouble in class, why don’t you talk to your professor?”

Dean glares at her. “I don’t want to take up too much of his time. At some point I gotta learn to do this on my own, don’t I?”

“Who’s the professor?” Gilda asks, oblivious to the subtext of Dean and Charlie’s words. “If it’s Crowley I completely understand wanting to avoid him.”

“It’s Novak, isn’t it?” Charlie says with fake innocent. Like she doesn’t know damn well it is.

“Professor Novak?” Gilda turns her attention back to Dean, obviously confused. “Why, he’s wonderful with students, even if they’re not English majors. I’m sure he’ll be willing to make time for you-”

“I’ve taken too much of Novak’s time already, he made that abundantly clear.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide but she says nothing. 

Gilda looks even more confused. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like him-”

“Trust me. Can you please tutor me?”

Although she looks uncertain, Gilda slowly nods. “Of course, Dean. You’ve helped me with my Calc classes enough times that I certainly owe you. You have time now?”

“Sure do.”

~ ~ ~

Dean sits in the back of the class, keeps his head down, and diligently takes notes. He’s the last one to class, the first one out the door, and he never _never_ makes eye contact with Novak. He hates himself because he still fucking enjoys the damn class. 

His grades dip a bit in poetry, but they pull back up in everything else. 

Good, because whatever else happens, he’s going to make a fucking point. 

~ ~ ~ 

“You sure you’re reading the situation right?” Charlie hisses, careful not to be too loud lest Jo or Gilda overhear them. 

“I’m fucking sure,” he hisses back, slamming the fridge shut. He hates talking about this, he hates thinking about this, he hates _living_ this. “Why are you so sure I’m wrong?”

“It’s just that from what Gilda’s told me about him and everything _you’ve_ said over the past _two and a half years_ , it doesn’t make sense-”

“Dude got tired of fucking his student. Guess I’m not good looking enough or smart enough or young enough for him anymore.”

Charlie’s cheeks flush red and he swears she’s about to slap him. She doesn’t, though. 

“Dean Winchester, you had damned well better be right. I don’t want you ruining the best relationship you’ve ever had-”

“It’s not a _relationship_!”

“That you’ve _ever had_ because your own baggage got in the way. Promise me you’ll talk to him if he tries to talk to you.”

“What, so he can get one last quickie before the school year ends?”

Charlie throws up her hands. “You’re so hard to help sometimes, you know that?” Then she storms out of the room. 

At least she never brings it up again after that.

~ ~ ~

“Dean- _Mr. Winchester,_ may I have a word with you?”

Dean was too slow getting his stuff packed up after class, and now Novak’s blocking the door.

“There a problem?” he asks, looking as bored and disinterested as possible.

Novak, for his part, looks nervous. It’s actually kind of adorable, or it is until Dean tears the thought to shreds and pretends he never had it. 

“No, your work is as good and compelling as it ever was. I’m actually… really impressed with your answers on the last exam-”

“Then what could you possibly want to talk to me about? You’ve said you care about my grades. My grades, across the board, are fine. Guess you got nothing to care about right now.”

This time Novak looks absolutely devastated, so much that he’s barely able to reel it in. Dean looks away, reminds himself that Novak’s the one who told him to end things. 

“Dean,” he pleads, his voice barely audible it’s so low and fragile. “Please talk to me-”

“Sorry, Professor. I got another class halfway across campus in fifteen minutes. You mind?”

Novak hesitates, but quickly enough he steps aside to let Dean leave. 

“If you change your mind, you know my office hours.”

“Sure do, and sure won’t.”

Walking out the door feels like a victory, even though each step feels like agony. It takes all his willpower not to look back.

~ ~ ~

His junior year fizzles out. He doesn’t even want to think about how he has a whole fucking year left before he can leave this fucking place - and the people in it - behind for good. 

His math adviser offers him a TAship over the summer, promising that if he does well it could lead to more during the school year and possibly an internship to close out the end of his senior year. 

It’s pathetic that he doesn’t immediately accept it, that he takes a day to consider it because if he takes it, he won’t be able to work with Novak over the summer in the archives again.

Which is the dumbest thing in the world. He hasn’t even _spoken_ to Novak since he pulled Dean aside that day. 

~ ~ ~

He is certainly _not_ disappointed that he spends all summer on campus working, one whole building away from the English department, and he doesn’t see Novak once. Why the fuck would he be disappointed about that?

~ ~ ~

Senior Year

Dean looks at his schedule one last time, convinced he’s made a mistake. Several mistakes, in fact. It’s not too late to change things, to drop the _Creative Poetry Writing_ class he stupidly signed up for one night when he was drunk. 

Why is he doing this to himself? He can’t write anything that’s not a lab report, much less fucking poetry. 

Never mind that he’s putting himself in _another_ of Novak’s classes. He’s such a fucking masochist. 

It’s just… he feels like he’s got something to prove. Maybe to Novak, maybe to himself, either way it’s deep in his gut that he _has_ to see this through.

Even if it kills him.

~ ~ ~

Novak stares at him for the first ten minutes of class, Dean’s sure of it. Sure, Novak’s talking and handing out the syllabus and all that, but he’s watching Dean the whole time. 

Part of Dean hopes Novak is furious and uncomfortable.

Any other part of Dean that feels anything else is dutifully shut down and told to shut the fuck up. 

The class is hard, mostly because Dean doesn’t know what to write about. Novak talks about how emotions, raw, powerful emotions are an easy way to start, but for Dean all of that’s tied to Novak. 

“So write it anyway,” Charlie says. “Tell him how you feel with your poetry since you refuse to use your damn mouth to do it.”

“I’ve used my mouth plenty of times, remember? That’s the whole reason I’m in this mess.”

Charlie wrinkles her nose. Ignoring the innuendo, she says, “Okay, well, maybe don’t do it for him? Maybe you could write about it so you can process it and get over it or through it or whatever.”

It’s not the worst idea.

“I’ll think about it.”

~ ~ ~

He’s on the way to poetry class when he sees her. Petite brunette smoking in the open courtyard outside the building. Normally Dean wouldn’t pay her any mind, but he recognizes her. He’s almost in the building when he finally places _where_. 

The woman from the gala. 

He turns around and sits at the table next to her. “You got an extra cigarette?”

She blows out a puff of smoke and looks him up and down. “Jesus, you’re like a baby. You shouldn’t smoke, kid.”

“I’m 21.”

“Like I said, a baby.” She rolls her eyes and pushes the box of cigarettes towards him. 

He takes one out but, never having smoked in his life, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I take it you don’t go to school here.”

“Wow, smart. No wonder you’re in college.” 

_Really?_ he thinks. _This is who Novak was dancing with?_

“Name’s Meg.” She holds out a hand, and when he shakes it he finds she’s slipped in a lighter. 

He fiddles with both the cigarette and the lighter, turning them over in his hands. “So what brings you here, Meg?”

She gestures towards the building. “Waiting for a friend. My buddy Clarence teaches poetry.” She points to his hands. “They work better if you light them.”

“Yeah, thanks for the tip.” He puts the cigarette in his mouth and starts playing with the lighter. “Don’t know any professors named Clarence.”

“Novak.”

“Why do you call him Clarence?”

She doesn’t answer. “He’s taking me out to dinner after his class. Said I can’t smoke inside and said I would just be a distraction if I sat in the class. Probably because I would just heckle him the whole time.”

Dean lights the lighter, snuffs it out, lights it again. “He your boyfriend?”

She snorts. “Took me to prom a million years ago, but no. Just best buds.”

“Oh.” Relief fills him. He ignores it. The silence drags out. 

“For fuck’s sake.” She reaches across the table to snatch the lighter from him. She then proceeds to light his cigarette before he can stop her. He does his best not to breathe through his mouth. 

“You know,” she says, watching him carefully, “I have to spend a lot of nights taking Clarence to dinner nowadays. Used to be only once every few months. Now it’s once a week almost.”

He knows he shouldn’t ask because he _does not care,_ but still he finds the words leaving his mouth. “Why? What changed?”

She shrugs. “He got lonely, I guess. Someone broke his heart or something. He doesn’t really talk about it.”

“Broke his heart?”

“Yep.” The P pops as she says it. She snuffs out her cigarette on the table. It leaves a smoldering mark. “I told him to let me at the fucker who did it, but Clarence has always been a softie. Still in love with the guy, most likely.”

Still in love…? That couldn’t possibly be him, right? 

Abruptly, she snatches his cigarette. He jumps, startled. “Don’t you have class or something?”

He does, but he’s even less equipped to face Novak now than he was before. 

“Uhm, yeah.” He gets up, heading awkwardly to the door. “Thanks for the smoke.”

“No problem. Cya around, Dean.”

Coward that he is, he skips class that day. He goes inside and heads for an exit on the opposite side of the building, well away from his class. 

It’s not until later that night he realizes he never told her his name.

~ ~ ~

He takes Charlie’s advice and he writes. Pages and pages of things he’s barely let himself feel over the past few years.

It’s hard, pinning down what he’s felt and then finding the right words for it. He goes through half a notebook before he finds a rhythm, and then he can’t stop. He’s got tears in his eyes by the time he’s done and no clue if what he’s written is even halfway decent, but it’s true and he thinks that’s what counts.

Novak always said their poetry should be about finding their own truth. Well, that’s just what Dean’s done.

~ ~ ~

Dean’s nervous all day.

He’s got classes until noon and he’s jittery just sitting there, waiting.

When he gets to Novak’s office, he almost chickens out. There’s a little voice inside that tells him to stop being a wimp and just fucking do it already.

The voice sounds a lot like Charlie’s.

He stands outside the door for a good three minutes, clutching the notebook to his chest. Is this a good idea? Is it too late? Just because he finally found his truth doesn’t mean he found Novak’s.

_Man up, Winchester. You don’t even deserve him if you can’t talk to him._

With a sigh, he knocks and pushes in.

“I’m sorry, but my office hours don’t start for another hour.”

Novak doesn’t even look up, just keeps reading the book in front of him and making notes in the margin.

The coward in him wants to take that as a sign and flee.

He’s done being a coward though.

He clears his throat and says, “I know, but I believe you said your door was always open for me.”

Novak freezes, slowly looking up like he’s worried he’ll spook Dean if he makes any sudden movements. Fair concern, given their history.

Dean’s basically been running for a couple years now. 

“It is,” Novak says tonelessly. Dean knows better than to think it’s disinterest. It’s just that he’s being very careful, or maybe that he doesn’t believe this is happening at all. 

He gestures towards the familiar chair and Dean gratefully takes a seat. 

“What can I help you with?”

It’s polite, professional, and shows that he means to leave this interaction completely in Dean’s court. 

“I’ve been working on some poems for the final project.” Dean puts the notebook on the desk and pushes it over. “I was hoping maybe you could read ‘em and tell me what you think.”

Novak strums his fingers along the desk. It looks like he’s just itching to grab the notebook, or maybe reach across the desk and grab Dean. It’s like every second he’s sitting there doing nothing is killing him.

“Of course,” he finally says, and delicately picks up the notebook. There’s a bookmark towards the back, right where Dean’s three finished pieces wait for him. “I’ll give you my notes by next class-”

“I was actually hoping you could read them now.” He can’t quite suppress the urgency, but he _has_ to be here to see this whole mess through. “I can wait.”

Novak raises an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll just… sit here, watching me read them?”

Dean can’t help a half smile (and prays it doesn’t look too constipated because of his damn nerves). “Yeah.”

Novak shakes his head, his own smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then.”

It’s agony, waiting for him to say something, anything. Dean white knuckles the arms of the chair, watching Novak’s eyes dart across page after page, growing wider and wider. 

“Dean,” he chokes out when he’s done. 

“I uhm…” Dean coughs nervously. “I call the first one Doubt. All the things I’ve been worried about since I started college, I guess. Not measuring up, not being good enough for… people.” 

He can’t quite meet Novak’s eyes as he keeps going, so he focuses on the notebook and blinks back tears. 

“The second one I call Regret, because I think I’ve done some things I’m not happy about, and it’s just… I didn’t try to fix them soon enough, and it eats away at me.”

His breath shakes a little as he keeps going. “That last one - I don’t know if you got that far - that last one is called uhm… it’s called Love. Because I knew what it was to love my family and my friends but I uh… I didn’t… I guess it took me a while to figure out how to love myself and… and…” He swallows hard. “And to realize I was maybe starting to love you.”

The room is silent, the air heavy with possibility, with words unspoken waiting to burst forth. The longer it drags out, the more he worries he is most definitely too late, or maybe he completely misread _everything_ about the two of them. 

A day ago that would’ve been enough to send him running. Now he’s not scared. Okay, he is actually terrified, but he _has_ to know where they stand. 

He wants to know Novak’s truth.

“You spend most of these poems calling me ‘The Professor.’ I thought I told you to call me Castiel.”

Dean’s eyes snap up at that, hope burning so bright in his chest he can hardly see straight. He sees his own hope mirrored in Novak’s- in _Castiel’s_ eyes. 

“I uh… I thought you said that was only for sex.”

He laughs breathlessly. “I suppose I did. I’m now amending that to be _always_. Even in class, I don’t care. Just never call me Professor or Novak ever again.”

“I can do that.” Now his smile can’t be contained, it’s huge. “Castiel.”

“Dean.”

Castiel reaches a hand across the table, palm up. Dean accepts it. They squeeze. 

“Think maybe we could try again?” Dean offers. 

“Absolutely.” A pause, then a stern look. “If you take my class again next semester, I will fail you on purpose. I can actually reasonably take you on dates now if you aren’t my damn student anymore.”

Dean laughs, bringing Castiel’s hand up to kiss it. This is nice, this almost dating thing. He could probably get used to it. 

“Yeah, I think maybe I could do that.”

**\- fin -**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay! officially at the end :) hope you guys liked my muse driving me into the ground with this one XD

**Epilogue**

  * It takes Dean a week to switch from “Castiel” to “Cas.” He may or may not write shitty poetry where he rhymes “Cas” with “ass.”
  * He still calls Cas “Professor” sometimes, but only when he’s teasing him.
  * Dean starts coming to Cas’ office again, office hours or not. They usually share lunch together or will quietly work together while Cas grades and Dean studies. ~~After they spend the first week fucking each other’s brains out.~~
  * Obviously they have more to talk about, and after they get the fucking out of their system, they do talk about things. Dean tries to be open about everything he’s felt, and Cas shares his side, where he was only ever looking out for Dean’s best interests... and his own doubts that Dean saw him as anything other than a “fuck buddy.” They both admit that it started out primarily as sex, but that they both started developing feelings for the other. 
  * Cas takes Meg as his plus one to the gala again, though it doesn’t stop the boys from stealing a dance together. 
  * Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but he kinda likes Meg. And he will most definitely _not_ thank her for all she did to help Cas through their sort of break up.
  * ~~That’s a lie, he thanks her that summer one night when he’s drunk.~~
  * Despite his own misgivings about it, Dean does not take Cas’ class the next semester. They go on their first official date, a pinball arcade that serves coffee and cocktails. They end the night with Cas dropping Dean back off on campus, a chaste kiss and a whispered goodnight.
  * ~~They’d already had sex in the back of the car.~~
  * Spring break they end up going on a beach trip together. They don’t actually spend all that much time on the beach. 
  * Dean graduates summa cum laude, because of course he does.
  * Cas attends every graduation anyway, but he’s never been so proud to see a student walk across the stage as when Dean does. He may or may not wipe away a few tears, completely overwhelmed with happiness... and a little relief. While they are “dating” it can’t be official until Dean’s no longer a student. 
  * Dean introduces Cas to his parents at the graduation party. He introduces him as his boyfriend, which makes Cas’ heart swell. 
  * “How’d you meet?” John asks. 
  * Charlie and Sam both cackle as they watch a blushing Dean and Cas try to BS their way through that question.
  * Cas is the last one to leave the party. He helps the Winchesters clean up for a bit before Mary insists he stop, he’s a guest. He and Dean end up sitting on the porch swing, holding hands and dreaming about a shared future.
  * Dean goes to grad school a state over. They miss each other, obviously, but they’re both busy. They make plenty of time for phone sex, though. 
  * When Dean’s back in town during breaks, he just stays at Cas’ place. His parents kinda re-purposed his room anyway and he’d rather not stay in the guest room. Besides, he likes falling asleep in Cas’ bed, waking up to Cas’ sleep-ruffled hair, making breakfast for Cas... He could definitely get used to it.
  * When he graduates once again (and once again, top of his class), he makes a point of finding a job near Cas. It just... feels like home.
  * Their first night back after Dean has officially graduated is the night Cas proposes. Dean’s annoyed he hadn’t thought of it first, but he enthusiastically says yes.
  * Dean attends every gala as Cas’ plus one from now on, delighting his former professors with tales of how his life is going. He of course has to make amends to Meg each year by buying her an expensive bottle of wine and cigars. 
  * Overall, Dean and Cas live a happy life together... and occasionally Dean will surprise his husband with impromptu visits during his office hours.




End file.
